


Ornaments

by Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache



Series: 10 Days of Ficmas [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Ficmas, Fluff, Good Peter Hale, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Protectiveness, Sane Peter Hale, Short & Sweet, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 01:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache/pseuds/Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache
Summary: Ficmas day One: OrnamentsStiles loses something he loves and Peter hates to see his love cry. Determined to make Stiles feel better, Peter sets out to fix what was lost.





	Ornaments

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! yall ready for 10 days for ficmas???

The first of December has once again rolled around. Winds are bracing and Stiles swears that the breeze must carry sound with them because at any one moment you can hear Christmas music. He loves Christmas with its warm feeling and happiness and joy even though it is cliché, Stiles doesn’t care, he is desperately in love with the season. So its December first and Stiles is sitting on the floor in his lounge room surrounded by 2 or so boxes of Christmas ornaments and various decorations. The tree, a plastic one from target that has been in the family upward of 8 years, stands in the corner of the room, tall and bare. 

Stiles grins widely and his eyes twinkle as he begins to unpack the boxes and sort through the baubles and decorations, picking and choosing the ones that suit this year’s theme, silver, and red. About halfway through the first box, the lounge had started to resemble a glittery mess filled with swirling tinsel and the distinct sound of plastic balls bouncing against a hardwood floor. 

There are moments where Stiles stills in his unpacking and filters through his memories. Various one’s spring to mind, most gloriously happy and filled with laughter and off-key singing and flashes of old wind up cameras… some less happy but he cherishes them all the same. 

Reaching back into the box, Stiles' fingers brush the plastic bag filled with a handful of rope lights. He pulls the bag out holds his breath as he peaks into it. 

“Oh, you motherfuckers!” he grabs the lights from the bag and lets them fall to the floor. “Every year I pack you guys away with a caring hand to make sure you’re not tangles but Every Year I pull you out and you’re tangled!” 

The lights don’t reply but they sit there mockingly. With a huff, Stiles starts to unravel the lights and separates them into piles. Indoor lights, outdoor lights, and tree lights. The LED lights bounce from his fingers as he rolls them out and detangles their knots with a delicate touch as to make sure none of the internal wiring snaps. He knows how to fix them if a cord would happen to snap, although he’d greatly prefer not to. When Stiles is finished the piles are neat and each set of lights are looped in such a way that makes them easy to hold and hopefully unknot-able. 

He stands and stretches out his legs and toes, regaining feeling in them in a way that can only be described as static like. Stepping over his piles of decorations, Stiles reaches for the stereo, turning it on so it's low enough that the words run together but loud enough that the tune fills the room from corner to corner.

Making his way back over to his Christmas encrusted corner, with a rope of lights in his hands he works his way from the base of the tree upward, spacing the lights so that they cover each row of ‘branches’ evenly… or close enough to even. With the lights now on the tree he moves onto the tinsel, this year he had chosen red tinsel to fill the gaps between the lights. Much like the lights, Stiles starts from the bottom upward. 

Next, come the ornaments. Baubles of silver in varying size and shape and various other red and silver decorations like mini-presents and Santa’s with goofy faces. The tree looks almost perfect, filled with colour and gleaming lights, it’s impossible not to stare at it and smile… but its missing one thing. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, Stiles races to the bedroom. Under the bed in a small wooden box sits three glass ornaments, same ones he puts up every year no matter what theme he had chosen for the season. They’re beautiful hand-blown ornaments painted with little foxes and rabbits in the snow. They were his mums and he cherishes them so deeply that even just holding them makes his happiness skyrocket with past memories. He picks up the box with great caution and beings to make his way back to the tree. 

Except he doesn’t quite make it. Missing the silver bauble that had rolled to sit at the bottom of the staircase, Stiles slips, sending the wooden box flying across the room and landing on the wooden floor with a shattering smash. He’s gutted. He lays on the floor where he had landed with his heart in his stomach as the back of his nose starts to burn and tears well up in his eyes. His breaths are shaky and his eyes still sparkle but for an entirely different reason. 

He wipes his eyes against his sleeves over and over until they are red and puffed. With a broken deep breath, he lifts himself off the floor and into the kitchen to grab a dustpan and broom. He zones out as he picks up the shards of no longer prettily painted glass. He can’t, however, bring himself to put the glass in the bin. He instead places the glass back into the wooden box and drops into the couch.

“Why must you insist on having mistletoe?” Peter came in through the door holding a plastic bag in one hand and his coat in the other. “Did you know it’s actually poisonous… Stiles, baby boy, are you okay?” 

Stiles shakes his head quickly as his shoulders begin to shake and tears once again threaten to spill over his lashes. Peter walks over to Stiles and lifts him so that he can collapse into his lap. His hands latch into Peters shirt, balling it up into fists as he cries silently into his neck. He doesn’t know why his love is crying, especially considering when he had left an hour or so ago Stiles was gleaming with enough Christmas cheer that it rivalled that of a child’s. Eventually, Stiles shaky breath evened out as he cried himself asleep. With his boy in his arms, Peter carries him into their bedroom laying him on their bed and covering Stiles in his favourite cuddly blanket. 

Peter walks downstairs and surveys the house, trying to gather context clues as to why the love of his life had been crying hopelessly on the couch. The room smells of plastic and salt. The wooden box on the table draws his attention. He knows what’s in the box of course, and looks to the tree to hoping to spot the brilliant ornaments only to not see them. His eyebrows draw together as he walks over to the box on the coffee-table. He lifts the lid. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Peters' heart breaks for him. This wasn’t their first Christmas living together so he knows exactly how much these baubles mean to him. But there they lay, in a thousand different pieces. “Daddy’s gonna fix this baby boy don’t you worry.” 

It took Peter around two hours to find the group of people who had made the first ones and another hour or so to send them the details and the money for them to make replicas. Luckily for him when they had smashed the painted sections had mostly remained in large shards so that he could easily piece them together to send the makers a photo. The earliest they could send them out was the 5th of December, which was further away than he had hoped but what could he do. In the meantime, Peter went out and bought a cheap set of clear glass baubles where the top of them could come off. Once he got home he carefully broke down the glass of the old baubles so that they would slip through the top and filled the new glass ornaments with the old ones. They meant far too much to Stiles for them to simply get rid of. Peter hoped that this would sustain him until the new ones arrived.  
Peter went to bed late that night after placing the new baubles into the wooden box to find that Stiles had moved to be under the blankets, he was still, however, in jeans. Peter pulled back the blankets, gentle enough to not wake the sleeping boy and carefully removed his jeans, tucked him back in and then slipped into bed himself. 

The following morning when Stiles had woken up, the house smelled sweetly of pancakes and syrup. The remnants of sadness still lingered in his bones and in his eyes in the form of thin salty streaks that stuck to his skin. He went and washed his face and then travelled down the stairs, pausing for a moment at the bottom and looking down at where the baubles had smashed. The wooden box was no longer on the coffee-table so Stiles assumed that Peter was now aware of why he was upset yesterday. Stiles waddled into the kitchen and sat at their breakfast bar where his mug sat, filled with what seemed to be hot chocolate. 

“Morning baby boy.” 

“Morning.” 

A plate of two chocolate chip pancakes was sat in front of him. “Thank you, daddy.”

“No problem dear heart.” 

Peter pressed a kiss to Stiles temple as he left the kitchen. A moment or so later he had returned with the wooden box. Stiles breath hitched slightly.

“It’s okay baby.”

Peter sat the box on the kitchen counter and gestured for him to open it. So he did. 

Three clear glass baubles sat where the old ones used to. These baubles were filled with the old one's broken shards. Something that would appear strange to others was incredibly sweet to Stiles. He had expected Peter to just put away the old ornaments, but to do this was… perfect. 

“Thank you, Peter,” Stiles pulled Peter into a crushing hug. “I love this and you so much, thank you.”

“Anything for you sweet boy.” 

After Peters surprise, Stiles Christmas cheer bounced back, it wasn’t as bright as it was beforehand but it was still dazzling. Over the next few days, Stiles continued his routine of making what would seem to be too many gingerbread cookies, various hot drinks and putting his own touch on the rest of the house. This, of course, included putting up the mistletoe which Stiles had demanded to be kissed under even though that wasn’t a taxing activity. 

The 5th had rolled around rather quickly and Peter waited anxiously, he had hoped they would be perfect because of how much they meant to his love. The deliverer had arrived carrying a similar wooden box, this one looked newer but that was to be expected. Peter wiggled his way out from under Stiles, who was laying on the couch with him engrossed in a Christmas movie that Peter had honestly forgotten the name of. Peter watched as his head peeked over the sofa and followed him as he went to the door. The transaction was quick and in a moment he was walking back to the lounge room with the wooden box. He had looked at the baubles before he had accepted the package and they were brilliant.  
“Whatcha got here?” 

“A present.”

“For who?”

Peter looked at Stiles with his eyebrows raised. “Of all the people I know who am I likely to buy presents for?” 

“…Derek?”

Peter huffed out a laugh and smiled widely. “It’s for you.” 

Stiles played coy as though he didn’t already know this. “Oh?”

Peter sat back down next to Stiles and handed him the box. 

“Wait, Peter…” He was looking down at the box in his hands, tracing the familiar looping writing engraved into the lid, “is this…” 

“Why don’t you open it and see.”

The box lid opened carefully and Stiles' eyes bubbled with fresh tears, however, unlike last time they were tears of happiness. He carefully closed the lid and placed the box on the coffee-table before launching himself at Peter. 

“Thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you.” Each expression of gratitude was punctuated with a kiss as Stiles tried to bury himself into Peter. 

“Anything for you dear-heart, anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it leave a kudos and a comment on your way out <3


End file.
